This Immortal Life of Mine
by Erhothwen
Summary: Draco's reflection on his loyalty with the Dark Lord, his thirst for power, and quest for immortality through a ruthless legacy.


This Immortal Life of Mine by Erhothwen  
  
Disclaimer: My name is not J.K. Rowling.  
  
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I lie here on this stone-hard ground, its coldness sending soft chills up my spine that the fabric of my thin, black cloak cannot keep at bay. I am sprawled on my back and I'm watching the world in my own confinement down below, watching the world above me hurtle through time without me, leaving me behind in this desolate, bleak room where there's nothing but the darkness of my own misfortune and self-pity as both my body and mind wallow in the shadows of looming granite columns that mark this room.  
  
I had been seething in anger earlier before reeling in my own despair. He had told me what I would become—He had told of the power and strength I would gain, far more powerful and elite than my own father. I, son of one of His strongest followers, would become something more than just a petty hopeful, more than just the spoiled and arrogant rich boy, more than my father himself.  
  
They were supposed to cower in my spitefulness, flee me in fear, surrender to my whims as I became second in command—me, the beholder of the whip, and them, the victim virtually chained down in their own dread.  
  
I would have upheld a legacy, my name plastered in the history books as destructor of civilization, controlling a world where only the purest of blood would live and those of sullied heritage would perish in my elitism, crushed beneath my foot as I stamped upon them.  
  
There would be legions of my cronies who would follow my command and for once, I would be recognized—me, not some storybook hero in his shining armor, a golden spotlight upon his every arrival.  
  
This is no storybook, no fairytale where the protagonist wins out in the end, the good guy gets the girl and everybody lives happily ever after. I was supposed to win in the end with my Master, maybe even grow more powerful than him. I was supposed to bask in the glory, for together, we would create a world of superiority.  
  
And I would keep none alive, save few to continue telling my story. I would have become a legend; people would dare to whisper my name, their eyes darkening at the sound of my very name, their rosy lips pressed tightly in a thin line knowing that their forsaken, pathetic lives were mine to do as I wished.  
  
And through my supremacy, I would gain immortality. My presence would never leave without a threat, my life...immortal. Through gossip, through tales, through pictures even—I would become immortal.  
  
But He betrayed me. His promises of power held true, until it was either Him or Me. And by human nature, it was Him, naturally. He turned His loyal followers against me and I had no where to run, no where to take my shattered pride for His deifiers had nothing but hate for me too.  
  
I remember it so clearly for it happened not too long ago. He had no use for me; He had taken all that He wanted, and now He saw me as a threat, thinking I was only in it for myself, thought I cannot argue that fact for sure.  
  
He could have chosen any way, but he choose a sword, a mighty gleaming sword of emerald and silver that had once belonged to his ancestor.  
  
My own father stood beside Him and watched as the sword of our Master came forward in one fluid motion, quicker than the eye could blink, stabbing me in the chest, but missing my heart. That was His intention.  
  
I crumpled to the floor, my limbs crashing into the rock-solid floor and I was gasping as a tidal wave of nausea swept through every inch of my immortal body, though I kept my eyes bold and resilient to cause no farther hurt to my pride and dignity. I would not plead forgiveness for whatever wrong I had caused, nor would I beg for His healing, the silvery metallic unicorn's blood being all I needed. I would not give Him the pleasure of my expressed pain. Needless to say, the unicorn blood did not come and my father gave me one long, hard glance before turning away.  
  
I opened my mouth to speak as they all started to leave, wanting desperately to call out to my father, to speak to him, to give to him my final words of good-bye to my dear mother whom I loved and held very dear to my heart, despite the fact I had not shown it, as does when power consumes and clouds your mind. No words left my lips.  
  
Now I lie here on this stone-cold ground, frozen in place, my eyes staring above at the ceiling. Like I said earlier, the world continues to swirl above me, moving in its pace as it leaves me here unmoved and untouched.  
  
But I am immortal, right. I must have achieved immortality. My silvery blonde hair is as pristine as ever, sleek and slicked back, only slightly mussed. My pale skin is slowly draining away the color of life though, I know it is. How alabaster I must appear, my lose robes giving me little warmth. I cannot move and I am unsure why. I cannot be too weak because I know I am powerful, second to my Master, his Lordship, Himself.  
  
There is nobody here meaning I am all alone in this room. I do not weep for I am immortal and immortals do not weep in their eternal life.  
  
My robe is stained with blood, wet and becoming sticky as it soaks my cotton shirt. Dark crimson my blood must appear against the ebony of my cloak. Blood clings to my clothes, dripping down into a pool of redness on this icy floor.  
  
But I know that this surely cannot be my end and yet I am still bitter. I am supposed to become a legend, a figure of wrath and power—brilliant and appalling, an almost deadly beauty that none below me possess.  
  
I speak just two words, two words that slice the still air like a knife, cutting the silence with its two syllables. My lips are numb and slow as they move, making it painful and hard to speak.  
  
"Ever after."  
  
Those are the only words I speak or will ever speak as I lie here on this stone-hard ground, dying in this immortal life of mine. 


End file.
